﻿It was a chilly Wednesday, and I was finally making time to do something with my hair. I always love spending time with Gina in her hair salon… not just because she always seems to work a transforming miracle with my hair,not just because for those few quiet minutes someone is taking care of me instead of the other way around.

Mostly I anticipate our one-to-one connections in her shop because our friendship goes way, way back to years before we were both grandmas to two year old boys. Beyond being my friend, this woman is my sister in the way that matters most.

So, while she works her magic, we talk fast, we laugh, we listen, we commiserate, and we help each other through the maze of releasing children and grand parenting and mother-in-lawing…(Ohhh, baby, it’s a maze alright, and we aren’t always very amazing. If you think you’re challenged because you HAVE a mother-in-law, wait until you ARE the mother-in-law!)

Sometimes tears flow, and that’s okay too because the tear gene is apparently double dominant for both of us, although my Lancaster County Mellingers probably never crossed paths with her Big Valley Hartzlers. Yep, we cry together.

Some days it feels like holy ground. This was to be one of those days, but I didn’t realize it at the time.

﻿﻿﻿Our conversation turns to the pending Christmas program at the local Christian school. We are a little choked up; it was to be a “first” for both of us. Since her youngest recently fledged to college, Gina wasn’t attending for the first time in more than two decades. Meanwhile, as my Youngest Mystery makes the transition from home school to “real school” (as some of his friends say,) I was anticipating my first school concert as parent of a participant. ﻿﻿﻿﻿ Gina mentions our mutual friend, Terri, who will be getting four kiddos ready for the program on her own. Her kind UPS driver hubby has never been able to even attend a school Christmas program during the ceaseless rush of the holiday delivery season. T. is understandably anxious, knowing some of her youngsters will not be happy to be in those scratchy, unfamiliar formal clothes. The son who wears only khakis must wear black dress pants. And she dreads the usual picking and fussing that is the bane of parents everywhere. ﻿

﻿My heart goes out to her, my sweet friend, and I want to help somehow. I put it in my mind to pray for her…which doesn’t seem like much, but it’s all I can think of, so I let it rest.

﻿The next morning, Christmas program day dawns wild and wintry, and I’m amazed to see the buses running on schedule. All day the snow blows and spits in fits and starts, adding a coat of whiteness everywhere and pushing random drifts across windswept roads.

My thoughts turn to Terri, whose evening will now be complicated by needing to navigate the slick and winding mountain roads with her be-decked brood, and I wonder again what I can do to be helpful…but prayer is all I can figure out, so I do it, time and again as the early darkness falls. As I envision the chaotic scene behind her wreath-clad door, I stand at my kitchen sink, peer out into the windblown darkness, and pray.﻿

﻿﻿﻿Fast forward a few hours. ﻿

﻿The Christmas program unfolds before a packed and supportive house. I espy each of the T’s children, and they look wonderful, particularly Mr. Khakis who is radiant in his black pants, dress shirt, and tie. (Also black socks and shoes, as he points out to me later in the evening.) The music floats over us in sweet voiced beauty, and I welcome the invitation to join the song…﻿﻿﻿

﻿﻿﻿﻿

﻿“Here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that you’re my God.” And I hope that every young singer will experience the reality that He is “altogether wonderful” because old as I am, I have found Him to be unfailingly present in my journey.﻿

﻿ Afterwards I seek out Terri, wanting to connect, to commend her for “making it happen.” And then I see her husband next to her, smiling, joyful…and how is it possible? I listen as he says, “Oh, it’s totally a God thing.” His delivery load was fifty (50!) packages less at the start of the day, and he asked his boss what he was to do when he finished. “Go home,” was the unexpected reply. (“Totally a God thing,” Mr. Brown says to me again.) “I’ll be able to get to my kids school Christmas program this year for the first time ever,” he tells his boss incredulously. “You’ve never been there?” his boss of many years queries in surprise. “No, never.” “In that case I’ll cover your last pickup so you can get home even earlier…so you are sure to make it.”﻿

Welcome home, Mr. Brown!!

And so it was as I stood in my quiet kitchen at 4:45pm, praying for Terri, her grinning husband walked in the door.

Never in all his UPS days had he arrived home so early. “You probably think silly,” she told him, “but I’m taking a picture to remember this day.”

And here is that picture which "Mr. Brown" kindly allowed me to share with you...﻿

﻿

Together, they sat for a simple supper. Together, they corralled the kids into those clothes. Together they piled into the van. Together they crossed the dark mountain. And together they sang,

“Here I am to worship…” Yes, totally a God thing. And He is altogether wonderful to me. ﻿

Author

I'm finding my way beyond the maze of the "middle" years (if I'm gonna be 100 and something someday...) ​living life as a country woman who is a writer, gardener, wife, mom, nature observer, teacher,and most of all a much loved child of God.